What's Your Story?
by SilverInkblot
Summary: Numbers Seven through Twelve. Some past life introspection. Next up - He was in the garden when the princess was born.
1. The Servant

Things hadn't changed.

That was good. He didn't like change. Change meant new functions to perform, new ways to fail.

Isa didn't like to fail.

Not that success had ever brought him any joy. Computer programs weren't given emotions. Even if they were, the emotions would have been false.

So being a Nobody suited him just fine. He never had a heart to begin with, so why fuss. Orders are orders, and he followed them to the letter and to the death. He was hardwired to serve, and that's what he would do. His end user was top priority.

That is, until the shadows came.

The shadows were strange. They behaved erratically, but moved with purpose. Computer programs were corrupted before they could regroup.

After all, they weren't programmed to deal with this sort of virus.

And in the moments before he was corrupted, Isa felt something in his pixels he had never felt before.

He was afraid.

And then the electricity went out.

* * *

_I've writen up to Number Ten for this series, so expect fast updates._

_Kingdom Hearts not mine. -SilverInkblot _


	2. The Gypsy

He was a strange sort all right.

Red hair, fiery red, like the flames he toyed with.

Green eyes, sorcerer eyes, for green was a magic color.

He joined the gypsy camp, showing off his skill with flame, and Clopin hired him on the spot. Fire attracts crowds, and crowds bring the income. Besides, no gypsy ever turned another away, and this fellow certainly needed help. His body was painfully slim, like he hadn't eaten in days. Clopin filled a bowl of stew for him, and he wolfed it down without pause.

He said his name was Eal. He came from an orphanage in the east, within range of the great desert. He learned from a man there how to control flame. He claimed he came west to escape the strange shadows plaguing his land, stealing the hearts of many with their dark claws. While a number in the campfire circle laughed off the tale, more looked anxious. There had been rumors circling their route for nearly a year, of a dark force coming from the eastern lands. While this added yet another strain to the already difficult life of a gypsy, the sales of charms, talismans, and fortune readings were up, for even the townspeople were becoming anxious.

Still, whatever his background, he was a crowd pleaser. He loved the spotlight and did not disappoint. He conjured flames from nowhere and juggled them, threw them, swallowed them, never once burning himself. He performed on the steps of Notre Dame, teasing crowds with the promise of flames hotter than Hell itself, igniting the rage of one Minister Frollo, who realized too late the irony in his claim that he would burn the gypsy at the stake for his heresy. Eal laughed the threat off and disappeared in a burst of flame and smoke as the bellringer began his rounds, earning favor from the crowd who applauded his showmanship.

He performed in Paris for nearly two years as a crowd favorite until the shadows came. He recognized the strange monsters raising themselves up from the ground, making a beeline for the audience. He dropped his flames and shouted a warning – a woman screamed, and the crowd scattered, pushing and shoving each other out of the way, trying to escape the black devils. Eal conjured a burst of flames, fighting the darkness with fire, even as they clawed at his body. One of them reached its mark and he staggered backwards and clutched at his chest, still trying to keep the shadows at bay. He groaned in pain and fell to his knees as he was surged with Heartless, extinguishing the fire in his heart for good.

* * *

It was raining. Of course it was raining. Makes a bad situation worse, just in case you were trying to be optimistic. He wandered around the dark city, silently gathering up his memories as they came back to him. When he was found at last, he committed three things to memory permanently;

_I know who I am._

_I know what I was._

_And I know what to blame. _

* * *

_I liked writing this one. The Hunchback of Notre Dame is a favorite of mine. But I think Number Nine is my best work so far for this series. So stay tuned!_

_Owning Nothing (metaphorically and literally speaking) - SilverInkblot_


	3. The Lost Boy

The thing about growing up in Neverland _(no, no, no you don't grow up in Neverland)_. The thing about being in Neverland is there's no sense of time. Oh sure, the sun rises and sets, and you can count the days, but it doesn't really matter. There's no changing Neverland.

Maybe that's why he was always left out. While the other lost boys were content to taunt pirates forever, he wished for some other kind of adventure. Every landscape had been thoroughly explored, caves excavated, pirates annoyed. Check, check, double check. Maybe scaling mountains or trekking through deserts would have been a nice break in the monotony. Because the truth was he didn't like taunting pirates. The danger was too real. You didn't age in Neverland, but you weren't immortal.

Even the pixies knew that.

Of course, there was no sharing these thoughts with the other boys. He was already a bit of a dummy among them, content to play his flute, or strum guitar strings. Even his name, Dyme, looked similar to dummy. But that wasn't the real reason he kept to himself. He was becoming restless, disinterested, bored. He was changing.

And changing is growing up in Neverland.

* * *

No one knew where the shadows came from. They just showed up one day. But they mainly stayed close to the pirate ship, only occasionally striking out at the boys.

It was inevitable that Dyme should seek out this new distraction.

His hunger for change was his downfall. He grew up to be just another Nobody, another musician on the street corner, playing for spare change. And in some ways it was no different than the Neverland he left behind. Here in the center of London, everything was change. New faces, new places, new, new, new.

And it was all the same.

He left with the man in the black coat because there really wasn't anything better to do. _(And maybe if he left this world, he would finally find the change he had been looking for)._ But it was another Neverland after all. Same, same, same. A dark city like London and a salvaged group of allies, men, not boys. He followed orders, did what he was told. Touring through world after world and learned things are the same no matter where you go. Maybe he hadn't really grown up after all. Maybe children are the same as adults. Well, even if he hadn't grown up, he had changed.

And the irony is that he's still a lost boy after all.

* * *

_I like this one a lot. I actually wrote the last line first, and built the story around it. I LOVE that line._

_Demyx isn't mine. Neither is Neverland, though I'm sure to visit often. - SilverInkblot_


	4. The Gardener

__

I'm skipping over Number Ten for now, because I had a burst of inspiration concerning Marluxia's story.

* * *

He was in the garden when the princess was born.

She was born in the wintertime, when the snow lilies were in bloom. Her skin was the same pale shade of ivory as their petals.

There was much celebration in the kingdom that day, offsetting the biting cold of the season. Aulimar had several drinks at the tavern with the other servants as they discussed the plans being made for the party that would formally introduce the little princess to the world.

* * *

He was in the garden when the witch came.

The flowers were just beginning to blossom, opening their petals to reveal their treasures when she came gliding by. Her trail left death in her wake as the petals dropped and decayed, disenegrating before they could even touch the ground.

She did not spare so much as a glance in his direction, and for that he was greatful. She was like foxglove, coldly beautiful, but brimming with poison. A dangerous breed.

* * *

He was in the garden when the princess returned.

Her slender figure exuded beauty and grace with each step. Her golden hair fell just so over her forehead, sheilding her clouded eyes, her sad expression. She had been both blessed and cursed by magic, and had grown into a rose. Beauty untouched, lest the brave suitor prick his finger.

* * *

He was asleep when the shadows came.

The kingdom fell to a strange bout of sleeping sickness as kings and peasants alike left the waking world for their dreams. He slumbered under the cherry blossoms as the shadows spread like ink on a blank page, slipping in for an easy kill.

They grew like weeds, unwanted guests in the garden he had treasured in life, ripping beauty from the world in the same way they ripped hearts from the living. Yet Marluxia could no longer bring himself to care.

* * *

He was on the fringe of existance when his garden died. . .

* * *

_I really like writing for Marluxia. He's an intresting character with several interpretations._

_The world is Sleeping Beauty if you haven't seen the movie._

_And I own nothing Disney of Kingdom Hearts related. - SilverInkblot_


End file.
